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they had. It was one of the reasons Painter had been summoned by the president to participate in this search.
    “I need another miracle, director.”
    At least the man understood the gravity of the situation. For now, the Somali pirates had no idea whom they’d kidnapped. As far as they knew, Amanda was just another American hostage. But if they should ever learn her true identity, they could panic and kill her, dump her body in the closest crocodile-infested river, and wash their hands of the situation. Or they’d hide her so well, bury her in some godforsaken hole, that any hope of rescue would be impossible until their demands were met—and even then she might be murdered. The head of Homeland had offered a third, chilling possibility this morning: that she’d be sold to some hostile government, used as a pawn to leverage some concession from the U.S. government.
    So, the goal was clear: Find Amanda before the kidnappers learned the truth .
    “What’s your take on this morning’s briefing?” the president asked.
    “Your team has the larger picture covered. I wouldn’t do anything differently. Move a fast-response team into the region, be ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Coordinate with CIA assets across the Horn of Africa. But until we get a new satellite feed of the Somali coast, we’re operating blind.”
    In cross-referencing the time of the attack with the logs of satellites passing over the Indian Ocean, they’d managed to download a fleeting view of the actual kidnapping. The resolution had been poor, but they could make out the yacht and the raiding vessel. It had fled east after the attack, heading for the African coast. But unfortunately, within an hour, the ship had passed out of satellite range, so the exact location where it made landfall was unknown. It could be anywhere along the East Africa coast, but Somalia—notorious for its rampant piracy—was the most probable base of operations. A new National Reconnaissance office satellite was being commandeered and shifted to help search for the missing ship along that rocky coastline.
    But that wasn’t their best hope.
    Painter continued, “Sir, we need boots on the ground there. Our highest probability for a success lies in a surgical extraction, to drop in a small search-and-rescue team under the radar.”
    “Got it. If we go in all shock-and-awe on their asses, they’ll know their captive is important.”
    “And they’ll bury her.” Painter regretted his choice of words as soon as they passed his lips.
    James Gant’s face went ashen, but as a mark of the man’s fortitude, he waved for Painter to go on.
    “The team I told you about is already in the area. I’ll continue to coordinate with NSA, NRO, and my superiors at DARPA. If the pirates’ location is discovered, my team is under strict instructions to attempt a rescue only if success is guaranteed. Otherwise, we’ll pass on the coordinates and summon in the navy’s fast-response SEAL team for extraction.”
    A worried nod acknowledged his plan.
    Painter continued, “The kidnappers will move your daughter somewhere safe, then interrogate her. They’ll need to obtain a phone number, a contact here in the States where they can forward a ransom demand. If your daughter is smart—”
    “She is.”
    “Then she’ll keep her identity a secret. Hopefully she’ll give them some number outside the presidential circle. Perhaps a relative or a close friend. We have to be ready for that. Make sure that recipient stays quiet, doesn’t go to the police or the press.”
    “I’ll pass the word.”
    Painter asked a pointed question: “Can you trust all of your relatives to remain silent?”
    “They won’t say a word. The Gant clan knows how to keep secrets.”
    That’s certainly true .
    For the past month, Painter had been conducting a quiet investigation into the Gant family. Information had come to light during a recent Sigma mission that cast suspicions upon the family. Not